


And When You Broke Sideways

by Pervymonk



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Desire Demons (Dragon Age), F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 00:49:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15377082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pervymonk/pseuds/Pervymonk
Summary: Blood mages infiltrate Skyhold, and set loose abominations. Lavellan gets poisoned by a desire demon, and only one person can help her.





	1. Break

Chapter One: Break

“All right, draw your bow back,” Ellana says. The children of the clan-Galaros, Nerel, Melora, Nomaya-they grin at her, drawing back their practice bows. The children of the clan were so few but precious. Nerel hits himself with the end of his practice arrow, laughing through gaped teeth and the rest of them can’t help but join in when Melora shoots her arrow straight into the sky. 

“Okay, okay, we obviously need practice,” she says, a smile in her voice. Keeper Isthamoriel encouraged her to teach the next generation of hunters. Ellana had, finally, earned her place in Clan Lavellan in everyone’s eyes. Elf-blooded or no, she had been the Inquisitor and saved the world.  
Her brow furrows-she doesn’t quite recall the details of the final battle, only that the Inquisition was victorious. Was her work even really done? Josephine had been in the process of several alliances and there were still rifts to close-

“Ellana!” she perks up, torn from her thoughts by the sound of Cullen’s voice. He’s smiling, holding a basket in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. 

“Oh,” he says, flushing and hiding the wine behind his back. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were still with the children.” 

“It’s alright, vhen’an,” she reassures him. “These little hellions are just about due for a break.” The children of the clan burst into protest, dropping their bows and swarming her, grasping her hands and begging for attention. 

“No!”

“Ha’hren!”

“Teacher, please!”

“Just five more minutes!”

“No,” she says firmly. She hugs the children still clinging to her and tousles the hair of the others. “Go on. We’ll continue tomorrow.” They whine, and they plead, but she holds fast. Their eyes flash gold and she tilts her head to get a better look but they’ve hurried away, laughing and shoving each other.  
She has more important things to focus on than a trick of the light. 

Cullen sets his basket down and sweeps Ellana into his arms. He presses a gentle but insistent kiss to her mouth. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles against her mouth. She laughs, pecking him on the nose. 

“I wasn’t with the children that long.” 

“Long enough,” he says. He pulls her down onto the grass and she sprawls against him, his warm chest a comforting in the chilling night air. She sighs contently, nuzzling the juncture between his neck and jaw. She shifts against him, stretching to entice him to focus his attention on her. He chuckles lowly and she feels it rumble against her back. He turns his face to kiss her lips again and says teasingly, 

“We can’t have our picnic if you keep distracting me.” He wraps an arm around her waist, his fingers lightly playing across her exposed midriff. 

“Me, distracting you? Perish the thought.” 

“Inquisitor!” she hears, distant and faint. It sounds like Vivienne. But why would she be here? It wasn’t like they were on good enough terms for her to come visit Ellana with her Clan. Her head turns in the direction in came from, though she doesn’t make a move to leave Cullen. He stiffens behind her and his arm tightens around her waist. 

“Did you hear that?” she asks, her brow furrowing. 

“Sounds like the children playing,” he says off-handedly. He reaches around her to pop the cork off of the bottle of wine he brought and she makes of game of distracting him. She almost succeeds in making him spill the wine once when she presses her ass against his cock which is, to her surprise, hard. 

“Maker’s breath, woman!” 

“What is that I feel?” she says lightly, feigning disinterested innocence. “I thought you left your sword at the Aravel.” She stretches against him again, bringing her hands together and lacing her fingers behind his neck. He sets the glasses aside, his hands dancing up her sides. 

“Cheeky brat,” he grumbles, a growl in his voice, but she can feel him smile against her neck. He presses his lips to her neck, nipping at her lightly, and she laughs breathlessly. Her hand reaches up behind her to tangle in his hair and she turns her face toward his. She tries to capture his lips with hers but only ends up brushing his cheek. 

“Kiss me,” she whispers. He chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to her chin. 

“Kiss me,” she says again, insistently, and he smiles. 

“I did,” he says innocently. She tugs his hair. 

“Who’s cheeky now?” He laughs, full-bodied and loudly, at that. He reaches for a forgotten goblet of wine to hold out to her. 

“Hush now,” he says. She accepts the glass, fingers brushing his. 

“Lethallin!” echoes throughout the trees, more insistent. This time it’s Solas she hears. She furrows her brow-that isn’t right. He wouldn’t be with a Dalish clan, either. She does stand up at that. 

“Solas?” she calls. Cullen quickly stands up as well, wrapping an arm around her waist and setting his chin on her shoulder. 

“What is it, love?” There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before, barely noticeable underneath the endearment.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Lethallin!” Cullen looks over at Solas’ desperate cry. He runs his sword through a demon-(Maker, was that Aaron, with the mages? Skyhold is falling falling just like Kinloch he can’t-) and his gaze falls to Ellana. Glassy eyes stare forward, none of that bright and bold light behind them. Her brow furrows at Solas’ voice and the desire demon wraps its arm around her waist. It whispers something to her and her face falls slack. Its eyes glitter with golden malice. 

“We can’t let it have her,” Cullen says, panic hanging desperately at the edges of his voice. “Maker preserve me, it’ll kill her.” The demon tilts its head, eyes sparkling when it turns its gaze on him. 

“Oh,” it purrs, its voice a caricature of femininity. “I see why it’s you she wants.” It pulls Ellana against its chest again, whispering endearments. Ellana smiles blissfully, turning her face to the demon. It kisses her, as if boasting, and Solas readies an ice spell. He flings it so it lands next to the demon, showering it (and Ellana, Maker no) with shards of ice. It hisses, drawing back and snarling. 

“Unhand her, demon,” Solas demands. 

“Fen,” it hisses, the word spilling from its mouth with anger. It sounds like the Elvhen Solas and Ellana sometimes speak in. “Why do you fight for these false people?  
You know I could help you in your goal.” 

“Silence, demon. You have nothing to offer me,” Solas’ bites his words out in an almost snarl. It turns to Vivienne.

“You,” it says. “I could help you rise so much higher, above the Inquisitor’s incompetent grasp.” Vivienne scoffs. 

“The only thing we can agree on, monster, is the Inquisitor’s incompetence,” she sneers. “Something that I will rectify with my own power.” Cole moves in the shadows, unnoticed by the demon and Cullen takes an unconscious step back when the demon looks at him once again. 

“Poor ser Templar,” it coos. “So pious and proper, always wanting what you can’t touch. I can give you her.” Ellana takes a step toward him at the demon’s words, holding her hand out to him.

“Cullen,” she says happily. Cullen does not allow his heart to falter. He takes one step forward, then another, hand on the hilt of his sword. He makes to pull his sword out of its sheath when Ellana throws her arms around him. He freezes as she sighs in contentment. The demon’s face lights up in victory as Cullen places his hands on Ellana’s hips. He tries to gently pull her away from him but she won’t release him. He opens his mouth to speak but he is cut off.

“Ellana,” Cole calls. The demon snarls, noticing his presence. 

“Compassion!” it hisses. Grabbing Ellana by the back of the shirt, it flings the Inquisitor behind it. “You will not take her from me!”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Cole!” Ellana says happily at the blonde boy standing in from of them. “It’s so good to see you!” She moves toward her friend but Cullen pulls her behind him. 

“You will not take her from me!” he snarls. Ellana looks up at him in silent questioning. His lips are pulled back, exposing his teeth and his brow tightens in anger. His sword rests ready and violent in his hand. 

“Cullen?” she asks quietly, her throat gone dry. He looks down at her, gold eyes glittering in sympathy. (His eyes are too cold, she thinks. Like a horrific doll.) 

“Stay back, love,” he says. “A demon has made his way here.” 

“I’m not a demon,” Cole says. “You are.” 

“It isn’t safe,” Cullen insists. Only the Creators knew how many times Ellana has argued with Cullen about Cole when he first joined the Inquisition. They’d often result to shouting over the boy and his presence with her while they travelled.

But as Cole continued to help the Inquisition and as Cullen had gotten to know him, his heart had softened. She remembers that conversation. She looks around to see the branches of the trees hanging stiffly above them. No breeze blows and she can’t hear the sounds of life from the woods. Cullen attacks Cole and the boy moves fluidly, daggers in hand. She sees bolts of lightning striking around them, cast from a mage’s staff, and watches Cullen fight. He attacks with an almost desperate viciousness that is uncharacteristic of him. 

Though Ellana is not a mage, she remembers from her arcane knowledge studies with Solas about the dangers of demons. Desire demons were particularly insidious because of their ability to isolate their victims in a dream world, even if the victim hadn’t been sleeping. Upon close examination, Solas warned her, the world the demon created would fall apart. 

What had happened before she was with Cullen and her Clan? She doesn’t remember winning against Corypheus nor coming out to these woods. She doesn’t remember even expressing her feelings to Cullen. The last thing she remembers is Skyhold, and screaming, and-

“Blood magic,” she whispers. Cracks appear across the frozen sky, revealing the stone of Skyhold’s lower dungeons. She hears a distorted feminine voice cry out and looks over to Cullen. 

A desire demon, in awful tyrian purple glory, stands in his place. Ellana cries out and scrambles for her weapon. Her bow lies forgotten on the stone floor where she’d dropped it-she’d been ambushed by the foul creature. Her quiver rests on her back and she pulls an arrow from it. With shaking hands, she aims her bow and fires. The battle ends quickly, the real Cullen thrusting his sword through its chest. It dies with a horrid, blood curling scream and Ellana drops her bow, hands hiding her face. Solas appears beside her in an instant, face pained, and she feels tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“It-it-“ 

“I know,” Solas says, clinging to her as though she might disappear. 

“It stole things from me, private dreams-“ 

“I know,” he says again, a bit helplessly, and she howls, the angry pain of it cutting through the air. She’s pressing the palm of her hand to her forehead, body wrought with terrible, trembling sobs and Cullen’s heart breaks a little in his chest. Solas is murmuring something in Elvhen, his voice soothing and melodic. Cullen has no idea what he’s saying but it sounds like a lullaby. He’s rubbing her back, pressing his lips to her temple and he looks so very much like a father comforting his  
child that Cullen looks away, unwilling to intrude on such a private moment.

Dorian shadows the doorway, his lips a grim line and he catches Cullen’s attention. He walks over to the mage and Dorian whispers lowly, 

“The Venatori responsible for infiltrating the Inquisition and summoning the demons have been caught.” Cullen nods. 

“Officially, we’ll keep them imprisoned under constant guard until the Inquisitor can judge them.” 

“And unofficially?” Cullen looks over to Ellana, watching her suffering, and his lips pull back in a snarl.

“Make them suffer.” Dorian nods. His eyes rest on Ellana, first with a familiar sadness then with a burning anger. 

“Leliana can’t take care of them?” he asks. 

“The Inquisition needs to appear strong against infiltrators,” Cullen says. “We need to show the world we will not allow this to happen again.” Before Dorian can respond, Ellana tears herself away from Solas. 

“Wh-what?” she says breathlessly. She runs a shaky hand through her hair. “Solas, I feel-“

“We need to get her to the infirmary, now,” Solas calls. He reaches for her, hands closing over her forearms and she moans quietly. Cullen’s heart sinks-he had hoped she hadn’t been in the demon’s clutches long enough to be poisoned.

“What’s happening to me?” she whispers, her hands splayed across Solas’ chest. 

“I’ll explain later,” Solas says. She leans up, as if to kiss him, and he jerks his head back. She drops her head down to his shoulder in shame. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I don’t want-“

“I know. Come on, lethallin.” Solas all but drags her to the infirmary. She focuses on putting one foot in front of the other and on slowing her breathing. She tries not to focus on the heat of his hands or the burning desire raging through her blood. She doesn’t feel that way for Solas-he’s been a mentor, an invaluable friend. But in that moment, she wants nothing more than to mold herself against him and trail her lips across his neck, his chest, ever downward. Her eyes flicker to his crotch, then up to the ceiling, then back down to her feet. She hears the others behind and thinks of how handsome Dorian is, though she sternly tells herself not to touch and not to imagine tousling his perfect hair. Thinking of Cole’s bright blue eyes causes her mouth to water and she swallows, moaning softly in pain. She’s always thought Vivienne beautiful, ebony skin gleaming in the starlight and flush lips pulled into a scowl. Then Cullen-  
She looks over her shoulder at him, startled when her eyes meet his. His face contorts with worry and her eyes follow past his amber (not gold he’s real he’s real) eyes, tracing the edges of his cheekbones and down to his pink lips. She thinks of running her tongue along his scar, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. She imagines his hands splayed across her hips, running downward and-

“Fuck,” she hisses through gritted teeth, eyes clenching shut. She lets Solas leads her to the infirmary and she sits on the edge of a cot. She rests her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. Solas moves through the infirmary like a man possessed, robes flying up and grabbing ingredients with frantic hands. Vivienne sighs, brow furrowed in sympathy before she replaces her mask. 

“Do keep me updated, and call me if you require my assistance,” she calls to Solas. He waves her off in a way that would seem uncaring but Vivienne pays him no mind. She walks to Ellana, looking down at her. 

“Inquisitor,” she says. Ellana looks up at her with hazy eyes, licking her lips. “Do try not to let this get the better of you. You are many things, but a rutting beast is not one of them.” Ellana nods before dropping her head back to her palms. Seemingly satisfied, Vivienne storms out of the infirmary. Dorian moves over to Solas to wordlessly help him assemble whatever potions he deems necessary and Cullen, unsure of what to do with himself, lingers in the doorway. 

Solas busies himself at the potion table, speaking to Ellana as if the words calm him and not just her. 

“You’ve been poisoned. I’ll try to make a potion to ease the symptoms. Let’s see-erebium, crystal grace, elfroot. You will, of course, have to masturbate-“ Ellana makes a half moaning, half screeching noise that gives Solas pause. She’s flushed darker and she croaks, 

“Can you not say it like that?” 

“Apologies if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” he says. “But I wouldn’t recommend complete celibacy. The poison of a desire demon causes more harm if the victim completely forgoes sexual activities. It’ll be uncomfortable, if not deadly. You’ll probably chafe from repeated attention-I should make a salve as well.” Ellana groans, throwing herself back on the cot. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Though she tries to quiet it, her voice echoes through the room with gasping breaths. Her tan skin shines with sweat and Cullen can see a light red blush creeping down the collar of her shirt. He’s torn between wanting to stay with her and to leave her be. Lecherous half-formed thoughts course through his brain and he shamefully pushes them down. He turns to leave when Dorian calls his name. 

“Cullen? Could you help over here? We need an extra set of hands.” Cullen moves next to the two mages, helping them with whatever they need, but his worried gaze never strays far from Ellana. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Ellana, blessedly, slumbers by the time the three men finish their work. Cullen’s shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and he clenches and unclenches his hands to shake the stiffness from them. Solas nods to himself at the array of potions that line the table’s edge. He wordlessly leaves the room, sparing a worried glance to Ellana. Dorian sighs, running a hand through his tousled hair. 

“I’m going to the library,” the mage announces. “There must be something in the library that’s worth a damn that can help us with this.” Cullen nods. At a loss of what to do, he sits next to her bed. She whimpers in her sleep, fighting demons in her dreams. She sits up suddenly, a scream torn from her lips, and Cullen panics. Her eyes rest on him, with a mix of desire and resolve so strong it makes his head spin. 

Cullen doesn’t mean to overstep his bounds but he’s so worried. He cups her face, feeling her skin hot to the touch, and whispers, 

“Ellana.” The steely resolve in her eyes breaks, replaced by darkness, and she throws herself at him. Before he can comprehend what’s happening, her lips crash upon his hungrily. She’s draped across his lap, her hands clasping his face as she leans over him. She balances atop his thighs and he moves his hands to steady her. On instinct, he opens to her, tilting his head as she deepens the kiss. For a moment, he’s content to be the steadfast rock her waves crash against but he regains himself.  
His hands tighten on her hips (Maker, when had he moved his hands?) and he attempts to gently pry her from him. She groans into his mouth and, instead of following his hands pushing her away, grinds herself down. He gasps, a ragged, broken thing, as she rubs herself against him. He can feel the heat of her through their clothes and a soft cry escapes her as she slides against his hardness. Maker forgive him but weakness overcomes him. His hands softly caress up her sides to tangle in her hair and finally she tears herself away from him with an awful shout. 

“Oh, oh,” she says, and he feels himself throb at the breathlessness of her voice. “No no nonononono-“

“Ellana,” he croaks but she flings herself away from him, stumbling with heaving breaths. 

“C-Cullen,” her voice cracks, as if she’s about to cry. “Forgive me. You have to stay away from me.” He reaches for her, even though he knows better, and when her eyes focus on his hands it’s with a combination of sexual desire and soulful longing that makes his heart break. She shakes her head, backing away from him, and her last, whispered ‘I can’t’ thunders in his ears as she turns and flees.


	2. Bloom

Chapter Two: Bloom   
“She needs help,” Cole says, appearing in the library as if he hadn’t ever existence until this moment. Cullen bites back a swear but Dorian doesn’t even flinch. 

“Maker, but she is beautiful. Sunlight reflecting off her hair, the wind blowing it up around her like Andraste’s holy fire. Eyes crinkle in a smile at me. The branches of her vallaslin move: I want to trace them with my fingers, my lips.” 

“Cole,” Dorian says with all the exasperation of a parent, as though Cole were a child who could not keep his father’s secrets. 

“At night, when I can’t sleep, I think of her and she quiets the song. Maker be merciful, but the ways I think of her. Beneath me, above me, against me-I would take her anyway she’d have me.” 

“Fasta vaas,” Dorian swears, reaching out to cover Cole’s mouth. Cole blinks and suddenly reappears beside a flushing Cullen. 

“She thinks of you, too,” Cole says earnestly to him. “But it isn’t detailed. She doesn’t know enough to properly imagine and that frustrates her.” A book goes flying past Cullen to hit the empty wall beside him. 

“I..I see,” he says, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He flushes darker at the memory of Cole’s words, his own feelings spoken aloud, and a soft ‘Maker’s breath’ passes over his lips like a curse.

“Everything I’ve found says that this will pass. Maybe easier with a little help, but it will pass,” Dorian says, though Cullen can hear a worried edge to his otherwise flippant tone. 

“Her heart might give out, stubborn girl. She’s my friend, the only in recent memory, and she’ll burn herself up out of pride,” Cole says from atop a bookcase. Cullen sighs-though she hadn’t had to spend more than a few hours with the demon, he knew from bitter experience that the hearts of mortals often couldn’t take the constant strain. Desire demons taunted a person with the hidden things they wanted most, offering them paradise while leading them to their death. Often, those who spend more than a few days in the claws of such beasts become exhausted and their bodies give out long before their lives should end. 

That had been the fate of Cullen’s fellow Templars at Kinloch. Whenever the night grew too dark, Cullen often though that should have been his fate as well. 

“First Haven, then Adamant. Maker, will you ever stop trying to take her from me?” Cullen knows not if the thoughts are Dorian’s or his own. 

“Yes, Cole, thank you for voicing everyone’s fears, as though it makes it easier. Perhaps you are a terror demon and not the spirit of compassion you claim to be!” Dorian snaps irritably. His eyes flutter shut and regret becomes etched on his face the moment the words pass his lips. He sighs, hand fluttering to cover his brow. 

“I’m sorry, Cole. That was cruel.” 

“It’s alright, Dorian. I know it’s easier to be angry,” Cole says simply. 

“If she won’t accept help, then we shouldn’t force her,” Cullen says firmly. “She’s having a difficult enough time as it is.” He remembers when the Warden rescued him from Kinolch Hold and the ensuing events. The Chantry sisters had been tending him and Cullen, aching for touch, begged them to restrain him so he wouldn’t do anything untoward. Gregior had spoken with him at length about sending him someone to offer him relief, and Cullen had steadfastly refused. Gregior sent him a woman anyway, a prostitute from a nearby village, and Cullen begged her to leave him lest he hurt her. She’d shushed him gently, pressing a kiss to his lips, before straddling him and taking his hardness inside of her. 

That had been his first sexual experience-poisoned by a desire demon, ashamed of the fire within him and rutting desperately into a woman who had been paid to service him. 

He wants better for Ellana, for he knows she’s untouched. Though a darker, baser part of him thrills at the thought of being the first one to touch her, he wants it to be good for her. She needs better than this, better than him. 

“You’re right-we shouldn’t force her,” Dorian says. “But she needs to have the option available somewhere she can see. In cloistered seclusion as she is, she can refuse all help offered to her.” 

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying someone she trusts stays with her and, hopefully, she’ll accept the help given,” Dorian rubs the bridge of his nose. 

“And who would you suggest?” Cullen asks, his voice a little terser than he meant it to be. The thought of other hands touching her, other lips, causes a tightness in his chest he knows he doesn’t have a right to feel. 

“When Blackwall offered, she stammered and backed away,” Cole says. “When Solas offered, she left ashamed and with tears streaming down her face. When Sera offered, she groaned and threw things at her until she left. When I offered, she thought about throwing herself off her balcony.”

“The point?” Cullen bites out. 

“The point being the only one she’s lost control with is you,” Dorian says quietly. “You’re the only one who was able to break her resolve.” 

“Am I to be a cruel temptation, then? A means to force her into something she clearly doesn’t want?” 

“She does want you, you bumbling oaf!” Dorain says. “You two aren’t exactly subtle about hiding your affection for each other. “

“She wants all of you,” Cole interjects earnestly. “Not just for your body, but for who you are. You can help.” 

“Andraste’s ass,” Cullen swears, shooting Dorian a glare in response to the mage’s answering chuckle. Less firmly, he asks, “How long?” 

“How long has she felt for you, or how long you have felt for her?” Dorian retorts. Cullen doesn’t answer and Dorian rolls his eyes. 

“Redcliffe,” Dorian says, causing Cullen to startle. 

“What?” 

“She’s had feelings for you since Redcliffe, possibly even before. Oh, she’s never said so, will probably never say so, seemingly content to pine. Tell me, is it a cultural trait of you Southerners to be so afraid of what you want?” 

“She’s the Inquisitor, and I’m the commander,” Cullen says softly. “We’re fighting a war, and have no room for distractions.” 

“Venhedis,” Dorian swears exasperatedly. “You-“ he isn’t allowed to finish. Cole, with a surprising forcefulness, interjects. 

“Words on the tip of your tongue, hands aching to touch. But both of you remain silent-still!” Cole’s wide blue eyes meet his and, in his confusion, he looks startlingly young. “I don’t understand.” 

“She deserves better.” 

“Probably,” Cole concedes. “But you’re trying and she loves you.” Cullen blanches at that, his mind coming up with a thousand reasons to refute her feelings of love. Lust, he could disregard but Maker’s breath, love?

“That’s enough, Cole,” Dorian says. “What did we say about revealing deeply personal feelings?”

“You didn’t give me that lecture about when I revealed feelings. It was when I mentioned ropes and The Iron-“ Dorian makes a scolding noise, like he is addressing a cat who hangs from the drapes, and Cullen laughs despite the situation. 

“Very well,” he says, interrupting. “We need a plan of action then.” Dorian nods, hands splayed out on the edges of his desk. 

“We’ll have to surprise her,” he starts. 

____________________________________________________________________________________

The three of them stand in front of the door to the Inquisitor’s chambers. Cullen rubs the back of his neck nervously, feeling naked clad in only breeches and a white tunic. Dorian knocks on the door, loudly and repeatedly. 

“Ellana! Ellana, darling!” he calls. Cullen hears an answering groan echo faintly behind the door, and the sound of feet landing in front of it. 

“Ellana! Ellana, sweet!” 

“What?” she growls from behind the door, her voice husky. Cullen swallows as Cole begins delicately picking the lock. The plan was for Dorian to distract Ellana while Cole opened the door. Cullen was to barge in like a scoundrel and offer his ‘assistance’.   
Maker’s breath, he blushes just to think of it. 

“I’m just checking on you! How are you?” 

“How do you think?” Ellana groans again, and a soft thump lands against the door. “Did you find out how long it will be until it’s over?” 

“Not long now,” Dorian says, eying Cole’s progress.

“Good. I-I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” she says, and Cullen feels his gut clench in sympathy. 

“You’ll have some relief soon, darling. Now, Cole!” Dorian says. Cole throws the door open and Dorian shoves Cullen into the room rather ungracefully. Cullen catches himself on the stone wall behind Ellana, careful not to crush her. She’s between his arms and she looks up at him with a desperate hunger that makes his heart ache. He hears the soft click of a lock falling back into place and feels the shiver of magic run down his skin as Dorian sets up a barrier. 

“My lady,” he breaths in a soft exhalation of breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He watches as she swallows thickly, tongue dancing out across her lips. He leans down to gently kiss her. Her eyes flutter shut for a split second before snapping back open, wide and panicked. She lets out a rather undignified squawk and darts underneath his arms. As she runs up the stairs, he suppresses a groan-she hadn’t been wearing clothes when speaking to Dorian through the door and he catches sight of her muscled legs, the barest flash of red hair covering her sex. 

When he reaches the top of her staircase, he bites back a rush of panic at the sight of her open balcony. He hears a groan and turns, relieved. She’s sitting atop the small overlook in her room, legs hanging on either side of the ladder. She’d grabbed a blanket off of her bed, covering herself. She leans against the railing, one arm hooked around the pole. A miserable expression dominates her face. 

“Why are you here?” she almost whines. He moves toward her cautiously, as if trying to approach a frighten animal. He places on hand on the ladder, looking up at her in silent questioning. She tilts her head and he climbs partway up the ladder, stopping when he sees her shift herself backwards.  
He’s standing on the ladder, slightly below her so he has to look up at her. Through he’s level with her chest, his eyes don’t leave her face. 

“I’m here to offer you relief, Inquisitor,” he says, trying not to wince. He hadn’t meant to hide behind titles but he can see how uncomfortable she feels. She laughs bitterly. 

“Who put you up to this?” she demands, an edge to her voice even as her hand threads through his hair. “Who sent you to me, as though you were a whore for me to use and discard?” He winces as she wrenches her hand away from him. She moves to stand but stills when he places gentle hands atop her thighs.

“You don’t have to be here-I don’t want you here,” she says, her voice lacking conviction. He leans toward and, as soon as he does, she pulls away as though burned. Her back hits the stone wall behind her with a thud. Clutching the blanket to her chest to preserve her modesty ignites a hunger in Cullen and he swallows harshly when he can see the bare skin of her shoulders despite her efforts. He tears his gaze away to look at her face when he hears a loud sniff. She blinks harshly, wiping her eyes. 

“Shit!” she suddenly snaps. “Fucking desire demon gets to me and you-“ her voice quavers as her body trembles and, with a cracked sob, she says, “-you see me like this.” He remembers Cole: it’s easier to be angry. He reaches the top of the ladder, taking her spot on the ledge. He offers his hand out to her. 

“I understand,” he says softly. “Demons force their way into your head, taunting you with what you want the most.” He’d never forgotten Kinloch Circle nor the desire demons having their way with him until he could scarcely keep breathing. He no longer wanted what they had taunted him with but the memories had never left him. When she places her hand within his he can feel her trembling. He soothes his thumb over her knuckles in an effort to comfort her. 

“I want so much.” Her voice is barely a whisper but the confession echoes in his ears all the same, drowning out the lyrium beat in his head. Her free hand covers her flushing face and, while he understands the shame, it hurts him to see her hide from him. 

“Ellana,” he says softly. “I only want to give you what you need, to help you with this. I know how uncomfortable desire demon’s poison is, and it will pass faster if you have someone to help you ease the symptoms.” Wanting all at once to feel daring and reassuring, he lightly presses his lips to her knuckles. “I will not force you but I want you to know that you wouldn’t be forcing me, either,” he murmurs against her skin. She looks through the spaces between her fingers when he says that. 

“What I offer, I give willingly.” The expression that crashes across her face will be forever seared into his memory. Her eyes darken with lust that she tries to restrain.   
He sees worry scrawled across her brow but also a soft and happy tilt of her lips. They stare at each other, heartbeats hanging between them for what seems to be an eternity, and she finally nods, swallowing. He moves back, down the ladder and plants his feet firmly on the ground. His hands hold her waist to steady her as she reaches the ground trembling, fingers lightly holding her hips. She turns, still clutching the blanket to her, and his fingers move across the edge of it, brushing between fabric and skin as if asking for silent permission. With determination furrowing between her eyebrows, she looks as if she’s ready to charge into battle.   
The blanket drops to the ground and his breath catches in his throat. She’s willowy but muscled. Her shoulders are slightly too big for the rest of her frame. She’s not buxom by any means, though that’s never bothered Cullen. Rouge nipples lay in stark contrast against her bronze skin. His eyes follow the path of her taut stomach, speckled with copper hair, to the curves of her hips, disproportionally wide compared to everything but her shoulders. He often heard her complain to Dorian that she felt like her body had been made by a child slamming together parts of both humans and elves to make an abstract impression of a person. 

He thought her body fit together beautifully, only surpassed by her clever and kind mind, making her into something greater the sum of her parts. 

The sunlight streaming in through the windows dancing across her skin. He wants to reach out and chase the flickers with his hands but he waits: this isn’t about him. He sees her shift on the balls of her feet and she hugs her arms across her chest. His brow furrows-that won’t do. He doesn’t want her to be self-conscious simply because he’s staring at her like a besotted schoolboy. He reaches out, pulling her against him and taking her lips in a heated kiss. She makes a small noise of surprise and he pulls his mouth away, cursing himself. 

“Sorry,” he says. She smiles shyly, shaking her head. 

“Don’t be,” she says. “I liked it.” He feels questioning hands hovering at the hem of his shirt. 

“Would you-?” she mumbles, tugging at the fabric. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to her forehead before pulling his shirt off. He knows his skin must be a ghastly sight, covered in scars of battles past, but she drinks him in as if his body were an oasis and she were dying of thirst. She reaches out, pausing before touching him as if waiting for permission. In response, he covers her hand with his to hold it against his chest. Her fingers are gentle, questioning, tracing every scar as if memorizing the texture. She licks her lips, idly caressing his skin and she looks up at him. 

“Can I kiss you again?” she asks quietly. Unable to speak, he nods. She reaches up, standing on her toes, and lightly presses her lips to his. It’s nothing like the last kiss she’d given him, when she had been overwhelmed by lust, but he feels her tremble from her restraint. He groans, his hands reaching up to thread through her hair and cup her head. He deepens the kiss of his own accord and it’s as if he’d lifted the floodgates. She all but flings herself against him, clutching at his shoulders, and he gently moves her back until her knees hit the edge of her bed. 

“Lay back for me,” he says against her mouth. She gives him another light peck, atop his scar, and plops unceremoniously on the bed. He follows her, hands placed beside her head and he lowers himself gently to kiss her again. He brushes his lips across her check and, with an almost delighted guilt, he presses kisses along the branches of her vallaslin. At her sounds of encouragement, he drags his mouth down to the crook of her neck and gently nips the muscle between her throat and shoulder. A pleased sigh escapes her lips and when he bites down harder, she rewards him with a moan. 

He can smell the scent of her arousal, hanging heady in the air. He can taste it on her skin and hear it in the timbre of her voice. He feels it when she threads her fingers through his hair, and in the way she molds herself against him. He remembers Dorian’s words: you were the only one to break her resolve. The idea that she wants him, and not just any warm body, both thrills and terrifies him. For her to want him because of who he is, for her to even possibly love him-it seems too much for him to ask.

He slowly moves down her body, leaning back on his knees. Verdant eyes darkened with lust meet his own. Copper hair spreads around her head like a halo. She’s panting, a slight flush painted across her golden skin. Beautiful seems too simple a word to describe her. She looks like paradise made flesh. His hands engulf her breasts. He squeezes them, rolling them underneath his fingers and is mindful to be gentle. She carries an unspoken strength as Inquisitor-she wears the title like armor. But here, bared before him, she is simply Ellana-soft, sweet Ellana and he greedily drinks in this side of her that no one else has seen. Sunlight flickers across her golden brown skin and he finally chases the dancing lights with his lips. He takes one rosy nipple between his lips, gently flicking it with his tongue. When he hears her exhale, he sucks it into his mouth completely. She keens softly and he swirls his tongue around the bud, kissing her breasts more than sucking on them. He gluttonously lavishes affection on her: kissing with his lips, caressing with his hands, and relishes each quiet, desperate sound she allows to escape from her lips. 

He likes feeling her skin beneath his lips and makes a goal of kissing every inch he can reach. She squirms when he reaches her stomach, stifling girlish giggles and mumbling about being ticklish. He smiles, teasing her with open mouthed kisses to her stomach that leave her wheezing with laughter and delighted protests. He reaches her pubis and gently places his hands on her thighs. 

“Open your legs,” he says quietly, phrasing it more like a question than a demand. She looks at him with confusion but does as he asks. He hadn’t been experienced in sexual affairs before Kinloch and after, in Kirkwall, he’d never had relationships. Clandestine meetings with willing women, sometimes prostitutes and sometimes not, had been the norm for him. He’d learned a great many ways to please a woman from these affairs and was eager to put them to use. He’d liked most of the women he’d rutted but they had all been one-time encounters with no strings attached. 

He was very much attached to Ellana despite himself. 

She’s glistening and that heady smell of arousal strengthens his own. He runs his hands along the inside of her thighs, feeling the slickness that has already dripped down her skin. He thinks about her in this state for hours, touching herself to try and find release. He imagines what she must have thought about and his cock strains against his trousers insistently but he ignores it to lock his mouth over her slit. 

A surprised “Oh!” tumbles from her lips. He moans in encouragement against her, his tongue dancing around her clit. He runs the flat of his tongue against it, relishing the way she shudders. He runs his tongue along the seam of her entrance, easing his tongue inside her. He hears the rustle of fabric as she clutches the sheets and wants her to clutch at him with such desperation. He licks at her with a faster pace, sliding his hand up her thigh to slip his fingers inside of her. He looks up at her to see her supporting herself on one elbow. She’s biting her lip in an effort to control her voice and he pulls his fingers all of the way out of her only to thrust them back in. She jerks her head back with a loud cry, fingers tangling in her sheets. He takes his other hand to wrap it in hers, guiding it to his head. Instantly, her fingers tangle in his hair and he groans softly against her. She tightens around his fingers and he imagines that searing heat around his cock. He’s aching for friction against his hardness but he doesn’t want to stop touching her long enough to take care of himself. 

“Cullen,” her breathless, quiet voice beats in his ears like a drum. He wants her to be louder, to feel her come undone underneath his touch. She’s rolling her hips against his mouth, pushing onto his fingers. He wraps his lips around her clit and sucks, flicking his tongue against it in time to the rhythm of his fingers pumping in and out of her. A loud cry erupts from her lips and she tries to cover her mouth with her hand. His free hand wraps around her wrist, pulling it away from her mouth.   
He slides his fingers to intertwine with hers. 

She comes, clenching around his fingers and his name pouring from her lips in an almost shout.

He gently coaxes her down from her orgasm, gently kissing where he had been sucking. He pulls his fingers out of her slowly and lifts his head. She’s panting, sweat glistening on her skin and her free hand running through her hair. She looks all together pleased. 

“That was, um,” she says. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh.

“I’m glad.” She exhales, making a soft sound and he moves up her body. She sits up suddenly and knocks her forehead against his. First, he hisses in pain and then laughs at her mortified apologies. Her hands are cupping his cheeks as she examines his forehead.

“Are you all right?” she asks, concern tightly bounding across her brow. I am now, he thinks but doesn’t say. 

“Yes,” he says, lying back. “You’ll have to do a bit more than that.” She bites her lip and her hands play with his waistband. Her touch lingers timidly across the flat planes of his stomach barely touching the laces. She’s curious but unwilling to proceed further. Cullen, at first, worries that he’s made her feel insecure somehow. But then he looks at the way she’s gazing at him. Pure adoration lights up her eyes though her brow furrows to cover it. Since Redcliffe, he remembers and smiles. For him, it’s been longer than that-far longer than he should admit.


End file.
